Caught Between a Heart and a Far Place
by a-wolf-called-lillyfire
Summary: Jack and Rose went up a hill, to fetch a star from heaven; Their eyes did meet; their hearts fell steep and eternally beat in rhythm.   A different tale on a different kind of ocean! Chapter 4,:s i'm not happy with it...but, I hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1: it begins

**What was there to say?**

**It was just another night; another high society event with glistening jewels draped over the ladies like frosting, and clouds of smoke cloaking the gents in a dull mist of their own self importance. Rose turned gracefully from Mr. and Mrs. Hiltern who were making a most shameless introduction to their awkward son, Tyler. Of course, being held to the rigorous practices of the upper class, she quirked a charmed brow and smiled interestedly in his direction and allowed him to take her hand. She knew her beauty borrowed her some privilege with others and mastered it well; after-all what good was her beauty if Ruth could not use it to her advantage? Rose's smile descended to wry amusement as thoughts of 'Mother' invaded. Tyler's ears warmed at the auburn haired woman's rapt attention and returned the mistaken smile warmly because it seemed that rather than rolling her eyes and making her excuses, a lady could in fact tolerate his lack of social charm.**

**'Rose - dear, I'd like you introduce you to someone,' Ruth's icy glance and glassy smile brought Rose numbly from Tyler's grateful conversation, gliding with practiced ease across the fire place. **

**'Yes, Mother?' upon looking up, she instantly came face to face with a darkly handsome man of arrogant bearing. His eyes were slyly chocolate in colour and his mouth lifted on the left side condescendingly. Rose admired this person whose close attention she had for some reason captured. **

**'This is the young Mr. Hartley I told you about dear, isn't he rather a handsome sight! your father would have liked you to meet him sooner, had his tedious affairs not kept him,' Ruth's cold demeanor lifted, much to Rose's annoyance. It was a poorly concealed fact that Ruth Bukater was not a woman for gaily conversing like this, and the currently weak attempt had not a mere few heads turned in their direction. **

**'Is that so, Mother?' Rose coyly carried on, 'Mr. Hartley, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I do hope that my Mother hasn't frightened you with her gaiety! she is always**_** this**_** easily pleased, you see.' Rose smiled engagingly at Hartley as Ruth shot a small look of scorn at the mockery. **

**'Indeed not Rose, Ruth is a a delightful creature! and the pleasure is all mine...' Hartley lifted her hand and lightly brushed his lips across it. A queasiness writhed within her as the flutter of a thousand whispers floated in the majestic glittering of the chandeliers. Rose kept her eyes on Hartley as he did with her, and like a snake with its prey in sight, her private circle seemed to grow smaller and smaller. The smile faded as she broke the stare, barely aware of the others that had joined their conversation. **

**'Call me Cal, Rose.' Hartley said with personal suave. **

**'Of course, Cal.' When he held out his arm, she automatically latched onto it and her throat immediately wanted to splutter and throw her shapely form through the french doors and into the night's cover of darkness. She gulped and straightened her posture as she was led into the dining hall. **

_**And so it has begun.**_


	2. Chapter 2: hard business

a/n: thank you REVIEWERS! - **Frieda van den Huetten** for telling me what his name actually is 6; i feel a bit lame for mistaking it all this time - I share your deep love for this film also and hope you will continue to tell me what you think! :) 3 **Lady X**, you made me so happy with your praise! I really hope you will keep this opinion as I delve further into this tale =^^= 3

disclaimer / I do not own any of the characters or references to the Titanic film (or the actual film for that matter!) or make any profit from this work.

The morning light streamed through the opened shutters and turned the restful darkness bright with a new day. Rose frowned with closed eyes. She was not happy to be wrenched away from such glorious solitude and as wealthy girls often do, was most eager to speak out these frustrations on the nearest servant. 'Sarah, is there something wrong with your tongue that it shouldn't warn me before you blind me in the morning? It's appalling!' Rose's burgundy locks fanned out over the creamy satin pillows and tumbled as she turned her face into them.

'Begging your pardon miss Rose, but Madam Bukater will be cross with me if you're not at the breakfast table in a half hour! I'll have your bath ready.' Sarah was a dull faced girl with mousy brown hair. She did no less than what was expected of her and for someone with such a weak willed constitution, she performed her duties well and offered amusing conversation when Rose was open to it. Rose sighed in the empty room and listened to the water rushing from her washroom. Dragging herself to an upright position, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and gathered her wits. The lilac wallpaper seemed dull today, she noted and slide her eyes over the polished beechwood of her dresser and chairs. The soft curtains were the glimmering blue of a caribbean shore line and the wooden floor panels spanned at least 18 feet from wall to wall. Sarah laid Rose's robe of crimson red satin across the rich indigo duvet, and with a new resolve to end another long day, she draped herself and tiptoed lightly across the room to join her maid. She thinks that, much like Sarah, Ruth's temper was not something to ruin so simply before 10 am.

'I believe Cal is rather fond of you, Rose.' Ruth stated without glancing up. She neatly speared a baby boiled potato and sliced through it before popping it into her mouth.

'It's quite likely Mother; much like Tyler Hiltern and Sam Montgomery. They both seemed quite taken with me, last night.' Rose quipped over her buttered toast.

'Perhaps, but Cal Hartley is another league altogether; I want you to progress further with his acquaintance, Rose.' At this, Rose's sea blue eyes snapped up to meet her mother's identically blue stare. A frown marred the younger Bukater's features as she lowered her cutlery to the table. 'The Hartley fortune is overwhelming Rose, don't you see? He is going to take over his father's oil company one day and when he does, he will be one of the most wealthy young men of our circle. I want you to snap him up while he has his eyes on you and do it quickly.' Ruth calmly stirred her cup of tea without chinking the spoon against the china and took a delicate sip. Rose leaned back in her chair and quietly surveyed her mother for a few minutes in the silent breakfast room. The upholstery was plush and the linens were white as white could pristinely be. The mantle clock ticked gently by as Rose struggled to respond appropriately.

'Mother...' She began and opened her mouth only to be beaten to it.

'Get ready Rose, Mrs. Hartley invited us over for tea after lunch and I want you looking your most impeccable. Have Sarah find that dusky pink gown I like; it will impress Mrs. Hartley.' The housemaids cleared the table and Ruth headed to the parlor to read her favourite _ladies_ gazette, very much dismissing the young woman left at the table without much room for arguement.

X X X X

'Madam Hartley, may I present Madam Ruth and Rose Bukater.' The butler introduced in the lounge of the grand Hartley estate.

'Thank you Channing. I'm so delighted that you could come, Ruth - and with such a beautiful daughter in tow!' Caroline Hartley was a beautiful woman. Her fair tresses were pinned neatly away from her face and framed her bottle-green irises so softly, that one was lulled into a false sense of security around her. However, Ruth and Caroline were not allied by mere coincidence: having attended the same boarding school as girls, they remained cool toward each other. It was only having kept in the same circle throughout marriage and fortune that they understood that there was much to gain from bonding their families.

'It was no trouble at all, Caroline dear! we were delighted with the invitation were we not, Rose?'

Rose smiled disarmingly and replied, 'indeed we were Mother, I'm glad to make the acquaintance of such a good friend of the family.' Rose seated herself opposite the older ladies who occupied the pale pink sofa across the mahogany coffee table. Art Nouveau was vastly popular in their modern times and was scattered stylishly in the expensive furnishings of this stately home. The lamp stands and wood carvings on the chairs and table legs were of sensual women, posing delicately and portraying their fragility. 'Might I say Mrs. Hartley, that you have impeccable taste.' Rose murmured as she studied the furnishings with a cup of tea on her lap. It's heat radiated into her gloved fingertips and intensified the poignancy of the carvings' faces. Some with closed eyes; some with bowed heads and tilted necks - Rose felt something akin to a ghostly memory in their beauty.

'Oh, thank you my dear Rose - I find it most appealing to be surrounded by fine art; it sets my mind at ease...especially seeing as though I have such an eligible bachelor for a son!' Caroline laughed gaily and was joined with a small chuckle from Ruth. Rose almost gagged indignantly at such a ill hidden poke in her direction and instead jauntily cocked her head saying,

'Oh, I could only imagine how many young girls fall at those well shined shoes of his! I'm sure it is quite a task keeping such a young man in check. I do hope it's not too much trouble for you Mrs. Hartley and that your nerves are not shot at the mere mention of it. Wouldn't you agree, Mother?' Caroline laughed hesitantly as Ruth glared frostily at the sweet smile Rose directed at them. Rose felt she had accomplished a small victory in that tea room and settled comfortably as she finished her tea, listening half heartedly to their asinine conversation covering the latest gossip and scandals of the week. Whilst Rose acknowledged that it was always helpful to know the weaknesses of others and to be on one's guard, truth be told she was rather sick of the false pride accustomed to being born of wealth. It riled her to no end, that as girl from a long line of wealth, she was forced to keep others at arms length at all times to prevent herself from being used for the gains of others. It was a rather lonely existence actually, and one that she often dreamed could come to pass.

X X X X

'Cal! by God man, your positively genius!' Rod Mason practically yelled to his friend along side him at the bar. The rich boys were cruising the lively down town scene of New York City and drinking to their silver plattered success of being wealthy and successful businessmen, barely out of their 20s.

Cal grinned at his long time ally and replied, 'Well Rod, _someone_ stood to benefit from that deal - it may as well be me! A toast! - to being more successful than our old-fashioned fathers!' clinking their glasses, they downed their liquor in one large gulp.

'Ah, Cal - what say we have a party tonight? we can drink and dance and have all the pretty girls we want! let's celebrate, goddamit!'

Cal laughed amusedly at his boisterous friend, 'father expects me home tonight for some finalising on the deal.'

Rod grinned as he ordered another drink, 'suit yourself, Hartley - God knows you're far too restrained to have fun, anyway!'

Cal turned on his way to the door and replied,'Mason old boy: there's no room for fun in hard business.' Smirking as he exited the premises, there was more than one pair of painted eyes magnetized to his retreating form.

_'Hard business, indeed!'_ was the more sober of Rod Mason's thoughts that evening as he stared into his drink, amused and rather squiffy.

X X X X

'Caledon my boy, you did well today. Your ambition truly does precede you! I see great things for the Company with you leading it as you will one day, when I step down as Head Chairman.' Mr. Hartley Senior was now more of a jovial type of fellow having ruthlessly slaved away to build his company to it's current worth - he laughed until he was blue in the face, smoked expensive cigars and drank rivers of whiskey until the early hours. This being a more sombre occasion, old man Hartley was living up to his hard earned title and decided to give his predecessor The Talk. As the battle strategy churned in his mind, he was pitifully reminded that The Talk was usually reserved by a silly female on the topic of 'futures' pertaining to a significant male; darting his gaze _away_ from his quizzical son, the older man in the room lit his cigar in an agitated fashion and drew the smoke into his lungs; it's familiar warmth washed over him in soothing waves. Sitting up in his forrest green arm chair, Cal's attention was piqued by the bizarre behaviour and also straightened, arranging his face in an expression that reflected intense focus.'...Cal, your mother and I have discussed plans about your future and think that now is the time for you to settle yourself and put your energies into running this company with both hands. You've had your fun. You've enjoyed the company of many girls and ladies of stature,' Cal dryly raised a disbelieving brow at this,' but this reckless behaviour of yours must stop. You _could be_ a significant investment in my company...and I want to know that I am wise in my current decision.'

Cal turned to the open window facing out of his father's study, overlooking his mother's flower garden. Autumn gradually tightened it's death grip on delicate stems, plants weakened and went about kowtowing the earth that spawned it; the nectar sweetened its floral scents signifying it's fatal sickness. He felt a grim irony that flowers could be the most sweet as they died, as his affluent choices in life were most heavy on the precipice of his losing them. A deep chuckle floated from his soft lips, as he turned to his over-bearing father. Burying his hands within his pant pockets, he fixed his father with a stern look. 'Sir, I have long since felt that as the future chairman of the Company, it would be in my best interests to select a wife of good social standing; someone who will represent my name, and the company, with flawless charm.' Cal slowly paced the study, to the area where his father sat observing him.

'Indeed son, a very wise move in your career. As a socialite, and a wealthy one at that, your options may seem endless - however I have found a most suitable woman for the honor. Her family is old money: going back many generations, traced all the way to Europe, France.'

Cal saw a glint in his father's eye, the old man's glazed stare told him that this was something that Hartley Senior hungered for. Starved for it, even. Licking his lips unconsciously, old man Hartley explained that the girl's father was indebted to the Hartley name for clearing the mountainous debts he owed. The family's riches hemorrhaging at the walls of their once proud estate had not a penny to their name. His father's insinuation suddenly aligned perfectly and Cal understood that with the blood of old money flowing in a Hartley descendant's veins, the Hartley name would attain the regard of the highest social order in their elite circle. Chocolate swirled in the irises of each man in the perpetual silence of this epiphany. Anyone could make money in America - Mr. Hartley even said that a smarter man might even make himself rich, but a self-made man will always be socially inferior to a man of noble blood and birth. Both men almost tasted a drop of what was denied them in their superfluous and materialistic lives: an aristocratic bloodline; the passport to worldwide acknowledgment and eternal status. And they lusted after it with a bestial passion. Cal Hartley, turned his handsome head back to the starlight infiltrating the darkened study with a fusion of floral essence and heavenly regard. He walked back to the open window and clasped his hands behind his back, as though in deep contemplation.

'Well old man, what is the name of my fiance as you've managed not to tell me as yet?' Leaning back in his earthy green arm chair, fully satisfied with the business conducted this evening, took a drag of his cigar and murmured silkily,

'Bukater. Rose Dewitt Bukater.'

Caledon Hartley silently gasped at this stunning revelation. Raising his gaze toward the moon, he wondered what supernatural powers had afforded him such odds; gave him such a gloriously goddess-like creature to be his wife. his possession. his claim to power that he had never really considered. Having previously considered seducing her, taking her as his wife would be just as sweet and surely more gratifying than a short-lived affair on his part. Now that she was at his mercy, there was so much more that he could take from the world and the opportunity she presented only multiplied his desire for her, now.

And by God, would he get it all.


	3. Chapter 3: trapped

She was running.

Her grunts and heavy sobs sounded frantic to her ears and they frightened her deeply. That pricelessly pretty face of hers was damn well taking its toll and even her own mother would turn her head in disgust at the contorted expression she wore at that moment. Her heart bled anguish from her stormy eyes; so rough and nervous to the calm she usually was. Or, numb. However you wanted to look at it.

She thinks that this will be the death of her. She feels the cracking of her soul against the tightening of her corset every morning before breakfast; she feels her heart crash against her rib cage and smiles against the cry that threatens to wrench itself from the depths. If she can hold on, she tells herself - if she can just hold on_ a little longer, _she will definitely not drown. But she just can't suck the air in anymore. She's exhaling too much and too fast for her body to catch up, but her legs will not stop running; won't even slow down, though she begs them - as though even her own body considered her wishes insignificant.

The sobbing quietens to short gasps and fade into breathlessness. Her lungs are on fire with protest and tell her to 'breathe - for the love of God - breathe!' but just before her eyes begin to slide out of focus, from the darkness there appeared a cliff. A high cliff with the sound of waves crashing far below in a more disturbing void than she has ever met before. But she is too tired to save herself now. She panics weakly and wistfully prays that the edge will not rise to meet her and the winds will pull her back from the seductive shadows.

Alas, she can no longer feel the ground beneath her. Her legs have carried her to her end and there is no one here but the great black mist swallowing her. With closed eyes, the tears finally broke with the silence and she squeezed them tight in terror. _'No...'_

Suddenly, that was when she felt a peculiar sensation; a warmth enveloping her frozen form... The despair shrank confusingly and the woman felt a calmness return to her thundering heart. Once she had caught her rampant thoughts in a net and fished them back into her consciousness, she mused that death was surprisingly serene and even rather pleasant. It doesn't feel like falling anymore, but a gentle floating as the breeze kisses her exposed hands and neck, blowing escaped strands of auburn hair from its pins against her pale cheeks.

Still too afraid of what she might see, she relies on her other senses to guide her. She feels sunlight caress her face and turns her palms up to it, reaching out desperately, hoping that she doesn't have to be imprisoned in the shadows anymore. Her eye lids brightened steadily with the light she is too fearful of and she wants to cry with relief.

She isn't alone anymore; someone is there now - behind her, and he wraps his arms around her waist. She lets loose a soft sob, thankful that she won't fall...somehow she knows that he won't let her fall.

'...thank you!' she cries, smilingly.

'Do you trust me?' The man questions; his voice was serious and confident - it commanded her attention and asked gently for her answer. There was a softness in it that she trusted, and she answered surely and with complete faith.

'I trust you.' Her answer shook a little with anxiousness, but he heard the strength of her voice, and it told him firmly, that she placed her trust in him. With that, he covered his hands with each of hers and intertwined their fingers, bringing them close to her torso. She blushed, as he almost embraced her and he slowly guided her arms up and spread them out at her sides. She gasped, and dearly wanted to huddle her arms around her vulnerable body, but his fingers laced with hers begged her not too.

'Are you nervous?' He asks, but this time she catches a faint strain of amusement in his boyish timbre and is very tempted to smile with him.

'No.' she answers simply and frowns as she squints unfamiliarly at the sight laid out before her. The brightness of the day takes her with full force; the wispiness of the mist around her reminds her of clouds, and the orangey hue of the backdrop makes her think that if she were home, she would be getting ready for breakfast. It is at that moment that she realizes she is hanging dangerously in mid-air, with only a pair of flimsy arms supporting her! 'Oh!,' in panic she starts to flail, and the man grabs her wrists as she turns, He laughs heartily as she buries her head in the crook of his neck. His chest rumbles as he continues to chuckle and she has closed her eyes again, tightly. He holds her close and she feels safer than she's done in a long time.

'Rose! Miss Rose - please wake up! we'll have none of your shenanigans this morning! there's _twenty minutes_ 'til breakfast and Madam Ruth will not have any of it! Come along, now!' Sarah bustled as she rushed in and out of the closet with the day's dress wear and undergarments. Rose bolted up-right facing the varnished headboard and spun, bewildered by the abrupt end of her bizarre adventure. She found herself in a sweat-soaked bed, in her own room and facing the shining morning light through her large windows.

'What?...oh. Sarah, for pities sake - don't fuss, it's not impossible to be ready in ten minutes...' distractedly, Rose bailed the warmth of her covers and quietly paced the room to the bathing room and went about her daily rituals. Sarah, watched astoundedly as her mistress brushed and washed, helping where needed before tending to the correct lacing of the tedious undergarments of upper-class ladies. She often mused that, the clothing must probably be tedious in order to warrant the assistance of maids because it was a sure way of telling the upper class from the poor working class; working folk had no use for complex clothing whatsoever.

'Come on Miss Rose, let's get you to breakfast!' soundlessly, Rose obeyed and stood from the chair that faced her vanity. She stared at the reflection, not seeing much in it and headed toward the doorway, remembering fadedly the eyes that were the same colour of clear skies on a summers day.

'Sarah, I'll be needing my coat and things - I will be taking a walk today.' Rose stated over her shoulder before leaving the room entirely. Curtseying in acknowledgement, Sarah wondered what had gotten into her young mistress.

XXXXX

_The Previous Evening. . ._

'You know I don't like that, Rose.' a slithering insidiousness came, from across the expansive drawing room. It's walls were a bright and lustrous green with flower designs in the dove-white coving, offering peace and comfort. It was really too bad that the only comforting Rose took from this room was locked steadfastly within its colour and not in her companion that evening.

'Mother, she was pretentious. I find it tiresome when ladies condescend that way.' Rose replied, keeping her eyes on the book with a studied air of concentration, to hide the anxiety she felt around this woman that was her mother.

'Regardless. If you and Cal Hartley are to be joined, we must keep up immaculate relations - _at least_ until the wedding is over.' Ruth reasoned before sipping her lemon tea. Rose flinched invisibly at the word that sagged in the air.

Marriage.

'Surely, the m-..._that_...will take time to proceed with? Surely we don't expect him to drop to a bended knee and propose within the fortnight, or something!' Rose chuckled nervously. It was then, that Madam Bukater placed the polished china down with a gloved hand and met Rose's eye, with steely nerve. Rose knew that look very well indeed. It held a maternal oppressiveness that exceeded the strength of the walls that encased her, like the keeping of a delicate porcelain doll that she was. Everything inside Rose roared with indignancy as she prepared for her existence to change. Everything she knew would change with those moving lips of Ruth Dewitt Bukater.

'Your marriage has already been finalized between our families. For a few months at least. This was a business agreement between your father and Cal's father. Cal has been recently informed and gladly accepts your hand, that I had promised on your behalf. At the Hallows Eve Ball, your engagement will be officially announced. You will wear the red evening gown, dear. I'll have Sarah make the necessary amends.'

'Months..._my _marriage has been arranged for months! and you finally tell me now?' Rose outraged, jumping to her feet in disdain. Ruth but moved to pick up her tea, again, obviously not wanting it to get cold. 'I can't believe you mother! how could you do this to me?' Rose cried.

'On the contrary, I did this _for you._' Ruth narrowed her eyes at Rose's heaving state and motioned immediately to calm her foolish daughter. 'You are aware of the situation this family is in, are you not?' Ruth went on, deathly calm.

Rose began to shiver with the conundrum of unleashed sobs. Instead of breaking, she glanced momentarily into the fire, seeking out the flames for the warmth and defense they provided.

'Your father has drank away our fortune! _Your _inheritance - do you even comprehend where that leaves us! Do you think you can still afford to keep maids and beautiful gowns and expensive furnishings? Are you so blind, that you don't see that we have nothing to our name? Mr. Hartley Senior is willing to protect us the way _your own_ father can't. No, _your father_ lies listlessly in bed - waiting to crawl back to the drink that toils with all our lives! You ignorant girl!' Ruth chinked the china onto its saucer and turned away from Rose, barely containing her frost-like rage. 'retire for the night...my poor nerves have had more of you than I can bear.'

Rose watched sadly as her mother remained looking at the wall, knowing full well that her tirade had served no favors. Of course, no one knew better than Rose, the business with her father...or, felt it wash over her heart before she went to sleep at night. Rose was her daddy's little girl and no matter how she blossomed and changed, Mr. Bukater was now only a bittersweet memory of the love they once shared.

Ruth kept him in a room on the other side of the estate, attended solely by his nurse and sat with him every evening for a half hour. Rose had visited often at first but stopped going after the third time he had tried to beat her. His drunken ways having shriveled his strength and glazed his bloodshot stare to a poorly concealed ruse that he was looking at you when you spoke to him. He was very easy for Rose to evade, but it broke her heart to have to do it in the first place and she wound up with a bruise or two anyhow. Oh, yes - Rose knew what was troubling her once pristine home. There lingered ghosts of past miseries and sore hearts in the rooms she walked as a child. She walks them now, as a young woman; a slave to the name she was born to, and a prisoner to the family that owned her.

Rose let the depravity drown her for once, as she walked the darkened corridors toward her bedroom and bit down on her lip to stop it from trembling. She was conflicted: what was asked of her was something her spirit shrank away from. She was cornered and there was nothing she could do about it. As Sarah silently helped Rose out of her clothes, she put on a frothy lace night gown and removed the pins from her hair methodically, shaking out her luscious curls from their up-styled combs and clambered into bed. She lay awake that night after Sarah had blown out the last candles, just listening to herself breathe. As Ruth had forcibly reminded her before, her obligation was to the family and her own wishes were menial and rather trivial in the "grand scheme of things". She drifted along a dark stream of thoughts that night and eventually sunk deep into the mattress, quite literally hoping to be swallowed up before morning came.

XXXXX

The lake shimmered dazzlingly in the mid-morning sun of this October day. Many people enjoyed riding bicycles and mothers taking their children in their strollers along the banks. As the cold air nipped at their naked flesh, many took the care to bundle up warmly. Rose fashioned a pale pink coat that reached down to her calves. The black vine embroidery at her collar and shoulders made her the envy of a few young women she politely acknowledged on her way. With her hands clasped at her lower back, she walked unseeingly along - not really noticing the splendor and far too engrossed by the nightmare on her private plane of existence. The Autumn leaves waltzed in the air, like an array of dancing couples in an endless ballroom. The amber and blood shades of leaves pranced the ground as the wind swept them up in swirls of mini hurricanes of vivid colour.

XXXX

In all his 22 years of life, he had never seen a more beautiful girl. And he could even boast at seeing at least a dozen girls he'd sketched on his travels - even as far as Europe. His eyes followed, mesmerized, as she stopped a little further down the bank and leaned one gloved hand against a tree, gazing out at the water and a slight frown marring her pretty porcelain face. Barely taking his eyes off the angelic creature, he drew a fresh page from his sketch book and began her outline, wishing reverently that she might stay like that for a good half hour...

After twelve minutes, the hairs on her neck stood on end - but she'd known she was being watched before that had happened. The frown that tainted her was now from annoyance more than anything. She glanced at him, as he glanced down at his lap in the same moment - both aware that the jig was up. She was used to being appreciated, even gawked at sometimes - but today was not a normal day. In fact, it was a really, really BAD day and this poor sod, was going to be the blame of it all. She seethed at his obliviousness to his prevailing doom and immediately walked toward him, not making eye contact at all.

'You sir, are extremely rude!' She began hotly, looking down at this fair haired man that was squatting on the far side of the bank. He was dressed in a careworn jumper and light brown raincoat, with a cigarette poised between his lips. He glanced up at her before adding a few touches to the picture and standing up - throwing the cigarette to the ground.

'I'm ah, really sorry Miss, if I offended you.' He twanged in a softer accent than that of a native New Yorker. He shuffled his papers distractedly as the woman took in his appearance - snootily, he imagined.

'Offended me? You've been watching me, for most of the time I've been at this park! I am beyond offended!' She jutted out her chin in defiance, her cheeks warmed and her eyes sparked, as this man seemed to stare at her in a less that polite way; sort of like he was observing her quietly. It unnerved her almost as much as Ruth did.

'Believe me, Miss - it was unintentional, I meant no harm by it. I'll leave, if that'll make you feel better...' Rose scoffed, and instead of walking away as she had originally planned, she held out a gloved palm and gave him an expectant look.

'Give it to me. The picture - I want it. Now.' She ordered him, only to watch him raise his eye brows and fail to hide a smirk as he innocently made to open the portfolio.

'Are you absolutely sure, you wanna see this?' He asked in a mock serious tone, 'Cause if you do, be prepared - I don't want the blame for anymore trouble...' he peeled out the dreaded paper in question and handed it to her.

Rose found herself confused and gazing at something she really did not expect. Further to that, what confused her most of all was the poignant sadness in her heart at what she saw. She hurts, deep inside and feels more lost than before she had noticed this strange man.

'...What is this, some kind of joke?'


	4. Chapter 4: 'eyes to me keep them on me'

The young man, weary of being burnt by the red head's fiery mood, watched the way her lashed fluttered as they gazed down at the drawing he made of her. She frowned and observed the etchings deeply,...in proper company she might have realized that she, herself was being extremely rude when only moments ago she had been berating him for the exact same crime. He on the other hand, wondered what she was going through and was eager to know her reaction. He couldn't help it, he supposed; she was remarkably beautiful and he was as equally intrigued by her. He noticed from the corner of his eye, ladies staring at the obviously mis-matched pair they made and whispered curiously. He looked away from the girl and took a cigarette from his pocket, slipping it between his lips before lighting it carefully with a match; he figured that it would distract himself and make him look less like the idiot he was, practically gawking at her in a public park. Rose collected herself and swallowed the frog that stubbornly sat squatting in her throat, away.

She was irked.

Rather than the mediocre pervert she had passed him off as, he seemed much more...unsettling than that, now.

'Tell me honestly,' She said frowning at his chest, still refusing to look directly at him,'are you some kind of stalker, or something?'

He snorted disbelievingly with raised eyebrows, and leaned forward a little as boyish dimples appeared in his face. He struggled to hide how laughable the question was. 'No, ma'am. I swear, I've never seen you before today.'

'Then, how do you explain this! you couldn't have possibly drawn _this_ from today!' she accused, holding the picture up to his face. She was infuriated by the sound of him chuckling.

'Actually, I'm an artist...you _could_ say I'm good at it.' He folded his arms and leaned back on the brick wall he had rested against for the past couple of hours.

Rose sighed at the hinderance she stumbled upon during her little excursion and massaged her left temple with closed eyes. 'A little peace. That was _all _I wanted! I just wanted to take a walk and clear my head. Now, I'm standing here with you - and I want to scream bloody murder!'

'maybe you should, if it'll help.' He replied simply. It was Rose's turn to chuckle dryly,

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'No offense Miss, but I'm not the one yelling at a complete stranger, here.' He stated, a tad self-righteously in Rose's opinion, but she also noted, grudgingly so, that he was right. She brushed a few auburn strands behind her ear and looked slightly bashful. 'I'm Jack, by the way. Jack Dawson.' He offered, holding out his hand. Rose finally met his eyes this time, and was taken aback by two glowing orbs of bright sky peering down at her.

'Rose...Rose Bukater.' she dimly shook his hand, wondering what game she was clearly a pawn in.

As she remembered the dream she felt a fluttering in her chest as she studied Jack's chiseled features. _Was this some kind of sign? Was it a prophecy?_ she wondered. Since she had first spoken to this man, Jack, her heart felt less like a burning building and more like a comfortable camp fire on the west indian plains. She's never been out of a city before, thus never seen the likes of a _real_ campfire, but in her mind she can see it warmly beckoning her with its whispering flames.

'Rose suits you.' He said, taking in her deep pink lips and the blazing shine of her luxurious red hair as he stared back into the dark pools of a watery abyss, framed by the wisping curl of her lashes.

'Thank you,' She politely replied, feeling totally embarrassed about how rude she was before. Rose knew she could have left at any moment, but she didn't have even the slightest inclination. Something inside her said that she should trust it. Trust him, even. She was losing a bloody battle with her life, and sinking fast...but she felt normal around him: like everything else was just a bad nightmare. '...Can I ask you a question, Jack?'

'Sure.'

'Why did you draw me like this ?' She asked, wanting to know since he had showed it to her but had previously been too upset to ask.

Jack pondered over his answer and shrugged slightly '...I thought you were interesting...what really got me, was how _fragile_ you looked. It made me wonder, what was so wrong in this girl's life to make her look that way?...' Rose watched his eyes as he spoke and knew it wasn't a lie. 'But I just couldn't draw that. It felt wrong - so, I just did what felt...right to me.' He ended, slightly questioning his reasons himself, thinking even to his own ears, that answer sounded stupid. He took a last drag of his dwindling cigarette and threw it on the ground, trying to warm his hands by shoving them in his threadbare pockets. Rose nodded dumbly, trying not to think about his answer too deeply by chancing another look at the previously offending article of Jack's possessions. Rose was gazing back at herself from the thin sheet and it was such an incredible likeness to her, that she may as well have been looking in the mirror. But what struck her most, was not the divine talent of the hand that sketched it, but the way her eyes seemed to twinkle up at you, and the smile she graced; like she was the happiest eighteen year old girl in the world. A Rose that still had a doting father to go home to; a mother who stroked her hair at night; A home where she could sleep peacefully and feel safe in...

a Rose who still dreamt of all the things life had to offer a well-to-do girl, such as herself.

'...I see.' Lamenting the hope this picture attempted to inspire in her, she handed it back to him - overwhelmed by how much she prayed that her life _was_ like that and that it _was_ her, all the while damned to knowing that her life was never going to be like that again. Besides, she was more or less the property of the Hartley family, now.

Less than even a maid servant:_ a slave_. bought for money.

She was starting to break, again. Her blood faintly pounding in her ears had her glancing nervously out at the lake, trying to hide her turmoil from the innocent, Jack. 'Walk with me, Jack...keep me company for a while; after all, I feel like I owe you an apology for my behaviour...' she said trying to carry the conversation, already moving slowly on the path.

'Well sure, that could be arranged; you don't really seem like the type of girl that makes apologies that much!' he joked, grabbing his belongings and moving into step beside her. She snorted up at him, and laughed a little - she wanted to know about his life, his travels, his home; _anything_ to keep her demons at bay.

Jack was hooked: there was no other word for what she did to him in those precious moments as he watched her mulling over secret things in her mind, the way her forehead creased in the middle when something moved her; these little things yanked on his heart strings and foolishly, perhaps, he surrendered to it. Nothing could come of this friendship, of course he knew. But that fear in her eyes - the sheer desolation of her plight, had him reaching out for her to bring her to safety; _anything_ to save her from whatever scared her. The leaves picked up their dancing, as the pair moved by them, as though the energy between their two hearts sparked a magic electric current in the air - tainting even the sombre clouds with a silver lining of hope.

XXXXX

'No, Jack! that can't possibly be true!' Rose cried in a delighted, wondering tone - sounding rather child-like; her troubles were temporarily forgotten as Jack captured her in a story of his time in Paris.

'Yep, it's the honest truth! I've seen it with my own eyes!' Jack laughed.

'Ugh, there is _so much_ world out there! it goes on all around us and we barely see any of it; it's like we get so caught up in our own problems that we're spinning round in circles until everything gets fazed out...you could live your whole life never knowing what you missed...' Rose rambled, somewhat to herself. Jack's smile waned slightly at the sadness in her voice, as he watched the ground that lay chilled beneath them. His hands were in his pockets again as they made their third circle around the whole of the lake.

'What are you thinking, now?' Rose questioned, as the words between them halted though their feet did not.

'About, how we've managed to skip the subject of you.' Jack said rather directly, that it caught her off guard. Noticing her hesitance, he went on,'we've walked circles around this lake already, I want to know more about you...'

'There's nothing much to tell...it's probably no different to what you'd expect from any girl in a rich family.' She said shortly. At his silence, she went on,' I live in a big house, I go to parties at night, I drink tea with ladies and I own more gowns than I care to remember.' Her tone saddened as she uttered,'Just another rich girl, I'm afraid. Nothing more...'

'You're lying.'

Rose turned to look up at him in hurt surprise. 'Excuse me?'

Jack walked on, shaking his fair haired head with a sour grin on his face. 'I'm not buying it. C'mon, the sad little rich girl routine? I think it's horse shit.' He turned to look back at her and saw her rage ignite at his remarks.

Rose marched up to him and retorted,' You're calling me a liar? How dare you! you think you know it all, do you? well, let me tell you something - you don't know anything about me, or my life! - so don't try and presume-'

'What? - that you're more than just some poor rich girl?' He cut across, locking her in his intense gaze. 'Look, I know rich people. I know that rich people don't condescend to talk to some poor artist on a park bench! I also know, that if you were just another rich girl, you wouldn't still be with me right now.' He stepped closer to her now and said softly,'I just know it; you are _so much_ more than what you pretend you are...'

Rose felt like her stomach was doing cartwheels in her belly as she responded to his words. She sucks in the chilly October air, gently and lets herself lean into his voice as it permeates the air around her, telling her things that no one had ever said to her before. The winds whispered in the trees and the leaves began to shush them, though they pranced in their hundreds around the young man seemingly serenading them with his words as he gazed upon his ethereal companion.

'...I should be going.' She said hesitantly, stepping around him as he bowed his head, 'Mother will wonder where I am...and you don't know Ruth - trust me, it's not pleasant to annoy her.'

He slid his hands into his pockets and turned in the direction of the exit, with the army green satchel containing his portfolio slung at his side. 'I'll walk you.'

'There's no need, I assure you.' Rose said, more than slightly torn by where she wanted to go; toward jack, or the exit.

'It's no trouble, I was gonna head back, too.' Jack shrugged off her refusal like the polite mannerism that it was. He had no patience for it, and wanted her to know that she wasn't getting off that easily. But, in the way she stepped beside him, he figured she wasn't too eager to be rid of him either as they walked through the black metal wrought gates together and down the street. The automobiles roared and could be heard further into the city, from the quiet residential housing situated around the park. Jack and Rose went around a corner and entered a main street, bustling with people and noisy with the mingling of many separate souls. Some joined for mere moments, by the brush of a hand or an elbow - and others walking the same path, close and weary.

'Stay close, we could lose each other.' Jack told her, and she responded in kind by curling her fingers into the crook of his arm. Tingling at the place where her fingertips touched him, he faced forward [effectively shielding the slight unnerve in his eyes] and together, jumped into the fray.

XXXX

In a tea shop not far off from the main street, sat Ruth Bukater, Caroline Hartley and a few other ladies of the good fortune to have pleasing circumstances. In terms of 'pleasing', one could infer great financial security, a handsome estate and at least one son to maintain those pleasing circumstances, if not a useful daughter - to ensure they nabbed one, eventually!

'Yes, unofficially Caledon and Rose have been together for some months - have they not, Caroline, dear?' Ruth said smugly as the other ladies listened with scorn at her good fortune.

'Oh, yes Ruth - and I couldn't be more pleased with the match! Rose will make a fine wife to the Hartley name and they _do _make such a handsome couple. One can only imagine the beauty of the little darlings we may be spoiling a year or so, from now!' Caroline gushed as the ladies ooh'd at the colourful happiness in her voice as she went on. They all took turns looking at one another, enthralled by these two powerful women; blindly inspired by all they represented as the prime socialites of their exclusive community.

'And, can we expect that their official announcement of the engagement will take place at the Autumn Ball?' someone asked.

And almost as if they had rehearsed the whole conversation, Ruth and Caroline grinned as if daring each other to divulge their little secret to the world. Each looked out at their admiring audience of first class ladies and nodded emphatically. Much to the chorus of ooh-ing and giggles - came one astonishingly dramatic gasp, then came a shrill voice, '_Oh_, there is a woman swooning in the arms of a man!' everyone in the tea shop turned to the window and glimpsed a young man with his arms around a young woman, leaning heavily against the window.

'Oh, how _disgraceful_! caressing in front of a tea house window, like that!' a lady outraged.

'Ladies, please - it's none of our affair what the _lower_ class do in broad daylight, after all it is the reason we are separated in the first place!' Ruth said, before sipping her cup of tea - not even bothering to acknowledge the uproar in the quaint little tea shop.

'Ruth is right,' Caroline agreed,'first class is superior in every way, thus we cannot allow this travesty to destroy our God-given poise.' having attained the murmur of agreement in the tea room, it was silently decided that the window no longer existed and each occupant went about looking any which way, apart from the direction of the window. Ruth, being totally unaffected, was ready to turn the conversation back to herself and the advantageous marriage she had single-handedly scored for her daughter, when icy eyes jackknifed into a watery pair belonging to none other than:

Rose.

As soon as the coin had dropped, in the space of about 2 heart beats, Rose's horrified mouth hung agape as she tugged on the young man's sleeve, desperately wanting to vanish from the immediate vicinity. Now, dragging the oblivious boy away from the store window, she started a quick pace down the road, letting go of him and praying out loud with hellish fervor that maybe, just _maybe,_ Ruth had not noticed her for who she was, nor second, that she was in the company of an unknown gentleman, nor third, and perhaps most importantly - the gentleman was no gentleman at all, and in fact a poor lower class man - that she found in a park, no less! - '_oh, good heavens! it sounds absurd even in my own mind!_' Rose gradually slowed down and was about ready to crumple in a heap as she was yanked back by the hand and swirled around the other way.

'Eyes to me. Keep them on me...' Jack cupped her face and grabbed her glazed oceanic stare with his sky-lit one. Sea and sky met harmoniously in that moment and Rose felt her frantic heart begin to slow down from its wild panic.

They stood like that for a few minutes. The street was empty and bright - accompanied only by the faint sound of the breeze, traveling in the distance.

'Are you alright?,' Jack asked her softly, using that tone that managed to undo her whenever he spoke. Breathing calmly now, with an empty headed-ness one only acquired in a drug-induced sleep, Rose flexed her fingers at her sides as she grew more and more aware of his close proximity - forgetting all too quickly that she was previously leaning on him to stop herself from falling down like the messy jumble of nerves that she was. She nodded perceptibly and moved out of his reach.

Jack was more than a little agitated by her, since they had been shoved into that window by the rough crowd, racing rudely passed them. Rose's back was pressed into the glass, with him pressed into her - trying ardently to brace his palms against the window, to keep a modest distance between their bodies. Yes, he was an ordinary man, and yes, she was the most appealing woman he'd ever met - but he felt like she was walking round in circles in his head, already. Had already taken up swift residence in his soul.

He needed time.

But, by God - he was _way_ in, over his head. He knew it when he watched those abyss-like eyes of hers move from an unseeing gaze, to a flickering awareness of his touch, he could tell by the way her neck began to flush. He felt it when her misted breath fanned his face, ghosting over those parted pink lips of hers.

'I have another question, Jack.' Rose said, taking in their surroundings.

'Name it.' Jack replied, placing his hands back in their pockets.

'Do you know magic tricks, or something?' She asked. Jack frowned, cocking his head to the side.

'You've brought me home.' She gestured to the large white gates of the house they were 10 yards in front of.

'Woah.' He whistled, taking in the shear size of the residence. He had been totally oblivious to the street until now, but finally recognizing it for what it was, overwhelmed him.'You weren't kidding when you said you lived in a big house, huh?'

'exactly right, Mr. I-know-everything Dawson.' Rose laughed, as Jack shook his head, smiling.

'So, I guess this is where we part, Miss Bukater,' Jack said, stepping close to her. Rose smiled sadly and nodded.

'It was...a real pleasure, Mr. Dawson.' She told him. Jack took her hand in his, bent his head humbly and kissed her gloved knuckle with sincerity, meeting her eye as he straightened - a blonde bang falling over his forehead, sweetly endearing him to her.

'The pleasure was all mine.' He promised. Rose recalled a chocolate eyed man echoing the same phrase, although it did not inspire the same butterflies in her belly as it did now. Rose smiled bitterly at him as she turned to let herself through the gates.

'Goodbye Rose.' Jack said, walking backwardly. 'Maybe I'll see you around.'

'Goodbye Jack.' Rose said, as the gate closed behind her. She wishes that she could tell him that maybe she would see him around, too. That maybe, they could sit on a park bench together and be companions once again.

But she held back.

What else _could_ she do?

Her time, nor her heart, was hers to give any longer.

and the wind died down to low lying brushes of leaves shuffling their old dance shoes away, as the two souls seemingly detached from each other.

What good were those dance shoes anymore, if there was no music? they wondered to themselves, slipping silently into shadowy corners and against the ill-embracing concrete.

XXXXX


	5. Chapter 5: I'll not ask you again Rose

AN:/ Thanks for my one and only review T_T it was only one, but it was long and constructively critical - many thanks my beloved reviewer! * big heart *

So, I've been sitting on this for a good while; I just wasn't sure about my direction and didn't want you guys to hate it. . . but here it is, and it's *all* me, baby!

enjoy!

Alex Rothschild hastened his cup of coffee to its saucer before glancing back up at the girl sitting opposite him in the posh coffee house over on Potters Street. She was regaling a story, of an incident the other day that was most unbecoming of a proper lady. They both basked in its rebellious glory.

Ladies may have prefered tea, but he and his feminine companion were rather modern in that they dared to be different - without making scandal of it and still managing to outrage and impress in the same wink.

'Rosie darling, If we hadn't known eachother since childhood - I'd have thought you were simply a well dressed harlet and immediately sought to remove you from my circle!' he grinned, taking a beautifully motioned drag of his cigar. A tall, expensively clad business man entered the establishment from behind Alex and moved to reach his colleagues on the other side of the room. Little did he know that a pair of amber eyes were keenly following the languid movements of his lower half, as he walked past.

'See something you like, Alex?' Rose asked silkily, 'Because you know, if we hadn't been friends since childhood, I'd have believed you were more than just admiring that gentleman's suit!' she snickered lowly, as Alex spluttered over his coffee. He fixed her with a stern look as he re-arranged the lapels of his mahogany suit.

Ladies were not usually passionate in their remarks, nor witty, Alex firmly believed: it was something considered rude and a _very _poor quality in a woman of their social standing and hence stamped out from an early age.

But Rose was something altogether very different;

He often speculated that the heavens had poured too much of the Sea Mistress' fury in her, when they coloured her eyes. She was born with a passion so untamable, that not even a mother like Ruth Bukater could strangle it out of her. He had long since come to admire and appreciate this supposed flaw and their companionship deepened, as did her understanding of his own rather '_unpleasing' _quality, he thought dryly. She did not mock him, as he had originally believed she might, along with all others of their circle. She gave him an amused smile, took his arm and squeezed gently as they made their way to each group at every party, mingling and dazzling the others with a fruity sense of humor.

As a writer during the time, when he was not locked away in his study that is, Alex was often keen to stay in Florence during the summer and Paris in the autumn - finding relief and tranquility in their more relaxed climes. Places that he felt more himself and less like the un-welcomed foreigner among his circle in New York. A sad aspect of life that he had come to accept as he grew to understand himself. He was not the only man with such preferences on this turf, he could be sure - the problem lay however in that as far as wealthy bachelors went, he was considered of poor social standing and just barely tolerated by the wider circle for his unspoken quirk.

As their paths in life changed, Rose and Alex made attempts to meet each other whenever he was in the city: their comfortable companionship never forgotten. This being one of those occasions, Rose confided in her platonic friend of the mysterious dream and the ensuing chaos of the next day.

'Rose, you do paint a rather curious picture of this boy...the question _is,_ what happens now?' Alex murmured as they leant in close, over their cooling coffee cups. Rose sighed, the anxiousness apparent to Alex as he waited for her to continue. She glanced at her coffee cup and held it roundly, letting it warm her delicate fingers. A waitress stalked past them and Rose's red locks shimmered as they were swept away with the moving air around her.

'I'm marrying Caledon Hartley, Alex.' Rose stated, directing her gaze out of the window.

'So, I've heard.' Alex replied sarcastically.'...if that's what you wa-'

'Of course, it's not what _I_ want! it's what _everyone _wants!' Rose barely restrained the high pitched frustration in her voice as she bit out her despair. Her lovely eyes began to well, and reddened lips tremble. Taking a minute to herself, she gazed back at Alex and continued,'My father owes Mr. Hartley Senior a great deal of debt.'

Alex's shocked eyes widened with the next words that came out of her mouth.

'I am to square that debt by marrying his son - Caledon, I believe his name was.' She blinked as she took another gulp of coffee, letting its bitter taste flood her senses. Alex sat sorrowfully looking down at the table top, straightening back in his chair.

_What was there to say? _he thought. Outraged for his friend's pain and helpless to resolve it, he sat uselessly. The smoldering cigar glowing with the amber that dulled in his eyes, he took another limp drag.

'What if I-'

'Oh, shut up Alex, marrying _you_ would be the biggest farce and scandal of the century!' Rose said with a watery laugh. Alex grinned and joined her as they enjoyed a bittersweet moment.

'At least, you'll never have to be under Ruth's command.' Alex tried to encourage,'And, Hartley has a massive fortune! you'll have acquaintances_ vying_ for your attention - more people to infect with that insatiable charm of yours!' He chuckled, sipping his warm cup. Rose smiled back at Alex.

It was then, as they looked into each other's eyes that they knew: Rose would have given anything in the world to remain at her mother's side, if it meant she could still control her life to the extent she had done before. She had scorned it, yes - but by marrying Hartley, Rose would lose any right to _ever _living they way she wanted and _ever _doing the things she liked to. Her dreams of adventure and experiencing all that life could entail, were only mere fantasies now.

Never anything more.

Not any more.

'Come to the Autumn Ball, won't you?' Rose pleaded as she rose from the table, already late to be home for the Ball preparations. Alex frowned,

'I was hoping to miss it actually, I'd rather draft a new chapter.'

'Tonight will be the announcement.' Rose said, with a whimpering faux joy,'...I really would like you to be there when it happens.' Nodding at her request, Alex put out his cigar.

'For you Rosie, I will put in an appearance.' He stood as well, taking her hands and raising them to his lips in a most affectionate manner.

'See you, Alex.' Rose kissed her fingers and waved as she hurried from the cafe, hailing a taxi to be home before Ruth.

Alex watched her go before returning to his cup, looking down and shaking his head disbelievingly.

_what had she done to deserve this fate?_

_XXXXX_

'Why aren't you wearing the red gown I had prepared, Rose?' Ruth questioned her daughter brusquely. Rose was setting her hair in an elegant swept style, and directed her gaze at the wall. 'I asked you a question, Rose.'

Rose continued on as if she had been alone in her room and checked her powdered face for flaws in various poses. The lighted vanity mirror showed her a glowing face with bright and soul-less eyes. Ruth walked up behind the seated woman and forced with frostily critical eyes, that her presence be acknowledged. 'I'll not ask you again, Rose.'

'Mother, please. I have a headache.' Rose murmured defeatedly.

'You're not going to sulk on the night of your engagement, Rose. I mean it. Don't ruin this for us. Think of your family, if you can't bring yourself to at least smile.' Ruth said sternly, patting her own up styled hair. She turned to the door and went on,'be downstairs in 10 minutes.'

Rose closed her eyes which told her heavily, that tears needed to be shed. But Rose thinks that those tears will disappear in a few minutes, and when she sees herself in the mirror, there will be a smile in place and a strong, stormy Bukater woman will be staring back. As her blacked out sight shrank, tiny golden stars grew into flecks of light that spread warmly over the walls and ceiling as the world came back into focus. 'Stop it Rose. You're getting engaged.'

And with that, the red haired woman rose from her vanity and turned toward the door, refusing to stumble in each stride she took. Each step may have brought her to an unhappy future but she accepted it, now.

It was time.

XXXXX


	6. Chapter 6: 'I think I need a drink'

The extravagance of the room was beyond decadent.

There were three chandeliers this time and each sporting crystal shards more glittering than the rubies of some of the most prominent socialites in all of New York. Vine-like trimmings of the bronze stem made each light appear like a rose blossom, fastened tight by the stalk to the ceiling. Rose had attempted to burn their image into her brain to savor its beauty in the darkly anticipated moments to come.

Our heroine had found an opportune moment to slip away from the talons of her mother and glided with ease around the hall, a practiced smile in place to charm her on-lookers and to delight the company which she detested. _'Oh my, that ivy gown makes her look ravishing!'_ she would hear others whisper, many further instances of only slightly varied dialogue as she progressed. With her heart fluttering madly, she waited for the natural poise to kick in and take over, by striking up an easy conversation with someone, _anyone, _who would care to take her. Gradually, as she completed a full circle around the gigantic hall, a realisation came to be, that no one saw in her a young girl with vulnerable eyes:

What they saw, was a vision in ivy silk. A womanly grace wrought sensually with a milky complexion and flowing locks of a radiant fire.

Someone that perhaps, was too untouchable to mingle with, she read in their faces as they turned away from her - engrossed by concerns that affected only themselves and their similar friends.

And then, she wondered if this was her fault.

Could it be anyone else's that her circle of friends were so self-involved; so few - that all that was really left in her stead was a porcelain doll with fine hair and a pretty dress?

_Who here, was someone that she could call a friend?_

_Who here, cared even for one moment about the shards piercing the delicate flesh of her heart?_

She laced her fingers tightly together, as Ruth smilingly clawed at her daughter's arm again, with a feigned fragility that trained actors would have trouble discerning.

Rose inattentively spotted Cal, sporting an amused smirk with his infamously supple lips. It was no secret, the sordid affairs he'd enjoyed with multiple women of considerable social bearing - none were claimed in a forth-right manner Rose keenly observed, but rather _enunciated _by the smolder of their trailing eyes and the gravelly husk in their tones when he strutted near, under the guise of innocent conversation.

She found him rigid. And there was nothing more that brought a terrible pitch of excitement to her blood than challenging the one that sought to suppress her. She watched him take his time to make his way over to their party of family members, with all the glory of a first prize winner. She felt the ripples in her blood and reigned them in, privy to the total destruction that they would leave in her wake.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to take you away from your festivities for a moment with an exciting announcement,' A booming voice said somewhere to Rose's left,'It is my greatest pleasure to officially declare the coming of a more auspicious event than this wonderful Autumn Ball.' The whispering in the huge hall grew to imitate a howling wind through the cracks of a broken window. To Rose's ears they sounded hostile and cold- none of the joy and warm wishes a wedding announcement should have inspired. 'In fact, it is the joining of two impeccable families, both alike in fortune and circumstance and dare I say more in the coming weeks! I want you all to join me in a toast! congratulations Caledon, and his beautiful bride-to-be, Rose Dewitt Bukater! We wish you every happiness in your new life together!'

The applause was overbearing; the next thing Rose knew, she was shaking hands with none other than Hartley Senior.

'A damned pleasure to finally converse with our lovely young, Rose.' He said puffing a cigar jovially, still rolling her fingers with his wrinkled thumb. His black waist coat expanded over his belly where dangled a gold chained pocket watch. Rose blanched internally over the continued sound of applause.

'And you, Mr. Hartley.'

'Ruth, you ought to be proud of yourself - you did a fine job with her!' he went on, leaning a little closer,' Cal couldn't be more thrilled with his chosen wife-to-be!' Rose's eyes became blue saucers as his chocolatey eyes glinted.

'as you'll find out soon enough.' He added rather cheekily, much to Rose's sudden nausea.

'I think I need a drink...'

'What was that, Miss Rose?' The older hartley frowned as he peered down at the pale goddess before him.

'I said I need some air, I think, Mr. Hartley,' she hoped her hasty smile fooled him,' I am a little flushed this evening, I just need a moment to myself. Excuse me.'

_Bowing out gracefully before Ruth could call her back, Rose rushed through a smaller corridor, lined with long mirrors framed in bronze. The sounds of the band playing in the hall dulled to faint wisps, and the dancing crystals dimming in radiance with every retreating step. _

_The small parlour room she found herself thrown into - with a barely retrained haste, was cosily kept warm by a warming fire place. The lady released a staggering sigh as she shuffled toward it. _

_How long did she have ? _

_five minutes? _

_maybe eight before Ruth would send someone after her . . . _

_Would she ever have a moment's peace?_

As she began to loosen her hair from its fetter, she shook her locks out and let them glow with the fiery touch of the blaze.

_Ca-click._

the sound echoed just perceptibly over the cackle of burning embers.

But Rose wasn't ready to go without a fight, and she'd be damned if she didn't strut out of there with her head held high, and on her _own _terms.

'Inform my mother that I'll join her soon. Kindly close the door on your way out.' She said with all the finality she could muster.

'I'll be sure and tell the waiter on the way out...' came an amused sarcasm that would have riled her, had she not realized his voice at once.

'Jack!' she gasped, turning with a swish of her hair,'what on earth are you doing here?'

He stood there in a borrowed tux she presumed, as it was a crisp white and accompanied by perfect black bow tie. His head was bowed, as if in shame, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. However she gleaned from the way he looked up at her, with those beautiful sky coloured flints - that he was far from apologizing. It was just like him.

'Would you believe me if I said I was invited?' he asked innocently, moving toward the large sofa before the fire.

'Hardly.'

'I figured as much. . .' He told her,'Actually, a friend of mine got me in as kitchen staff. Just for a quick buck - It's not too tough. Puts food on the table, I guess. I worked tonight since I thought you might be at this shindig.'

Rose glanced at his weathered shoes and back up again, trying not to react to his words. 'I see.' She turned back around and looked into the reflection of the mirror hanging above the fire place and continued to remove her hair pins.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Jack sought to break its uncomfortable clasp on them. 'So, you're getting married.'

Rose's hands hesitated over her free locks before lowering to her sides. She turned to him and smiled.

'Of course, didn't I tell you the other day? - it must of slipped my mind...' She tried to orchestrate some kind of pleasant feeling about it and hoped reverently that he was seeing it. 'His name is Cal Hartley.'

'Hartley as in the oil tycoon?' He asked as if surprised. When she nodded he shook his head as he tried to find the words - he rose to his feet,'Thats...wow - I guess, ah...congratulations!'

'Thank you, its very happy news.' They shook hands, and both felt extremely foolish - though probably not for the same reasons.

Jack felt a throbbing in his throat from the words he tried not to say. From the question he tries not to ask; and yet it spills out sneakily, too quick for him to stop it, and too late for him to ever take back.

'Do you love him?'

'...'Rose is bewildered beyond words at his heavy question. His eyes are fixed on her face and staring determinedly at her watery ones, they want nothing more than to flood away from him and his almost instinctive questioning about difficult things. 'I beg your pardon, I don't believe you asked me that question!'

'It's a simple question.' His eyebrows shot up as he asked her again,'I just wanna know: do you love him?'

'Ughh, Jack, you just can't barge in on people and ask them questions like that! its rude and personal and totally inappropriate-'

'so that's a no, then?' Jack said turning away, unable to conceal a slight smirk. Rose hurried around him and halted his self righteous swagger.

'Just what _is _your problem? what is it any of your concern, whether I'm in love or not - or indeed whether I'm getting _married_ or not? you're nothing but a stranger!' she took a step toward him, and he took a startled step back.

'I'm just curious is all; just a curious spectator - i didn't know you'd get so riled up about it!' he raised his palms up much to Rose's further outrage.

'RILED UP! I am not riled! I am a lady who just simply does not have time for little boys with more arrogance than- Ah!' just as she stepped forwards, a raised piece of rug caught her heeled foot and threw her forward into the lean torso of the man before her. Almost catching her by the shoulders, Jack lost his step and followed her down. Almost on top of her, he eased off slightly and looked intently at the strip of hair lying across her face. Her eyes were still closed. He wondered vaguely why and fingered the impediment of his view...

Why was she in such a mess? ignoring the fact that she was on the floor beneath the single most charming boy she'd ever met, who incidentally was _not _her fiance, she was the daughter of a fumbling alcoholic who sold her off into slavery to a selfish man who was out for glory and with all the moral support of a demonically materialistic mother. Fantastic...

Jack smiled slightly as her forehead creased in the middle, like how he remembered it. Since she did not order his quick bodily removal, he thought he would lay there, for as long as she would have him.

Okay,

_Maybe _they were being inappropriate. . .

_Maybe _they were over stepping a few boundaries. . .

_Maybe _he should of left this married woman alone. . .

And then, she opened her eyes.

He saw a gleam of the desolation she pretended that was resolve. His long fair coloured bangs hung like curtains over their faces. It blocked out the fine furniture around them, the grandeur of their room. All that existed was the other person. And, he leaned down very slowly. Watching her eyes carefully as he went, looking for any sign of resistance.

But, there was none.

And their lips met in perfect kiss.


End file.
